


Men of Letters

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, M/M, None - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 08:59:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written as a snippet for SG1toCascade.  So blame Aly <G></p>
            </blockquote>





	Men of Letters

## Men of Letters

by Dangermouse

Author's website:  <http://myweb.tiscali.co.uk/dmouse>

*Still* not mine. What do I have to do?

Unbetaed - perhaps that should be a warning.

Sometimes it's easier to say what you mean on paper than in speech

* * *

Monday

Jim, 

Sorry to scoot before you even get up but I've got some stuff to do at the U. Looks like I'm going to be busy for a while. 

I've left 20 bucks on the table.   
Could you pick me up some of the   
mix for my shakes when you go shopping, please? That and some more shampoo.   
You know my favourite type.   
I'm going to be running a bit late today, buddy, got some extra classes. 

Thanks loads, man 

See ya! 

Blair. 

* * *

Sandburg, 

Been called out on a stakeout. H got sick (ri-ight! Girlfriend troubles more like.) I'll be really late so don't wait up. 

Your stuff is put away where it should be. I'm keeping the change for going :grin:. 

There's some lasagne in the fridge if you want it. Oh, and some garlic bread that can be heated up too. Enjoy. 

Catch you tomorrow maybe. 

Jim. 

* * *

Tuesday

J 

Gotta blow. This ships passing in the night thing sucks. Maybe one day we'll be able to synchronise watches and actually see each other. 

Thanks for dinner, man, it was great. Oh, and thanks for the shopping, especially remembering that I was out of camomile tea when I didn't. You're the best, pal. 

See you tonight? 

B 

* * *

Chief 

You're not going to believe this. H really is sick. As a result I've been 'partnered' with Rafe till he's back. 

It also means a week of night shifts. Guess our watch synchronisation is going to have to wait. 

Thanks for breakfast/lunch/whatever it was when I woke up. That was really nice of you. 

Hope you had a good day 

Jim 

* * *

Wednesday

Hey, Big Guy, 

God, this is a pain in the ass! A WEEK? Aw man, I'm hating this. Hope H is going to be okay soon. Don't be nasty to Brian, okay? He's only doing his job. It's not his fault he's had to adapt to H's sense of humour. He forgets to swap back to normal human jokes with us, that's all. 

Couldn't believe that dinner you left me tonight, man, that was like so thoughtful of you. You are amazing. 

Hope you like breakfast 

B 

* * *

Gawd, Chief, this is a mess. And I don't mean the kitchen. Thanks for cleaning up after yourself - and so quietly too! 

Rafe's still alive. Just. If I have to hear one more lame-brain, hormone-driven crack though... nah, don't worry, the IA investigation is too much hassle. I won't kill him. Not until I can find somewhere to hide the body anyway. 

How is life at the U? You getting caught up on things? When are you going to be back with me? 

Can't believe I'm saying this, or writing it, but I'm kind of missing you. Rafe drives me nuts, but it's not the same sort of nuts that you drive me. 

Jim 

* * *

_Thursday _ 

Aw Jim, you say the sweetest things. 

I'm going to be caught up with writing for a couple more days at least. Gotta turn that first chapter in soon or I'm going to lose my grant. Don't worry, it's like waaaaaay different from the one you saw. You don't get mentioned. 

Can't wait to get this damned diss out of the way. That way, we can get on with our lives. 

Thanks for dinner, man, the food was amazing. 

B 

* * *

Sandburg. Thanks for breakfast. 

* * *

Friday

Uh, Jim? Did I do something wrong? Is it the diss? I've done what you asked and rewritten the damned thing. Isn't that what you wanted? Man, you really have to learn how to communicate better. I'm many things, according to you. I'm your guide, your partner, your roomie, your supposed best-friend. But one thing I am not is a mind-reader. 

You say I make you laugh, and drive you insane, and one minute you say you're missing me and the next you're telling me to go away. Is it any wonder I get a little confused? 

Okay, let's think about this. It's getting to be a kind of make or break time, isn't it? I know you and your responses to things, so let me think this through, okay? I'll talk to you soon. I'll try to read that mind of yours, but it would really help if you met me halfway and gave me something to go on. 

Later 

B 

* * *

Sandburg. 

It's funny, but it's easier to write this than say it. You want something to go on? I'll give it to you. 

What next? I mean, you get your diss done, you get your doctorate, your letters after your name, and then what? I need to know where I stand with you. Are you going to leave me and go on expeditions or what? 

Okay, I've just had a cup of tea and done some breathing exercises. Yuck it up, Darwin, but sometimes I find they help. And despite what you think, I do pay attention to you. 

It's time to lay our cards on the table, isn't it? Trouble is, I'm not really sure what my cards are. 

You have to do what is right for you. I have no right to stand in your way. 

You've done what you promised to do. You've given me control of my senses. You've got the material for your doctorate. We're even. 

Ellison. 

* * *

The door to the loft opened quietly at three in the morning, and Jim crept in as silently as he could. He had listened out before to Blair's heartbeat and heard it slow and steady, just as if he were asleep. The letters they'd left to each other in the week had made him think long and hard about their relationship but he had come to no conclusion. He knew that it was up to whatever Blair decided. He could so easily lose his Guide and he was afraid. 

As he entered the living room, however, he saw Blair sitting on the floor, cross-legged and obviously meditating. Before he could withdraw and escape to his bedroom, though, Blair's eyes opened. He saw the blue flashing in the candlelight and knew that he could no longer move, though he still tried to turn. 

"Jim." The word came like a command and he stood stock still. "Come and sit." 

Again, the quiet words drove him to action. He moved quickly to the sofa nearest to Blair's position. 

"What are you?" 

Jim was shocked. He had expected something else, maybe harsh words, he wasn't sure what. He just wasn't expecting that. 

"What do you mean?" 

"What. Are. You?" 

No elaboration or elucidation, just the same words. 

"I'm a cop." 

"And?" 

Ah. Now he got it. 

"I'm a Sentinel." 

"What am I?" 

He was about to answer 'a student' or 'an anthropologist', but the 'correct' answer hit him between the eyes. 

"My Guide." 

"Does the Sentinel leave the Guide?" 

"No." 

"Does the Sentinel leave the Guide without protection?" 

"NO!" 

"Does the Sentinel care for the Guide?" 

"Yessss." The answer was hissed quietly, but the meaning was stronger than the shouted word. 

Blair shifted his position and stood up, turned and faced Jim where he was sitting. Then he moved right next to him and knelt down, pushing Jim's legs slightly apart. Hands shaking a little, Blair raised them until they were either side of Jim's face and he slowly and softly put them on his Sentinel's cheeks. 

"Does the Guide care for the Sentinel?" he whispered. 

"Always." 

"Does the Guide leave the Sentinel without protection?" 

"Never." 

"So why does my Sentinel think that his Guide will ever leave him?" 

Jim had no answer to that. Really speaking, he had many. Others had left him when they shouldn't have. His mother. Bud. His team. Lila... He wanted to yell, to rail against the stranglehold that Blair had on his emotions, to fight against the touch he had on his face, but he couldn't. His tongue would not respond, his brain would not cooperate - and the gentlest touch that he had ever felt which currently held his head, the lightest contact of skin on skin held him rigid, more tightly than the strongest bindings ever could. 

He shut his eyes and whispered. 

"I'm afraid." 

"I know." 

"You should go." 

"I'm not leaving you." 

"You need to leave." 

"I don't. I'm never going to leave you." 

"You're an anthropologist. A gypsy. A traveller." 

"Then let us travel together. I've seen the world. Let me see you. Take me with you as you grow old. I'll be beside you, my Sentinel, every step of the way. This is _my_ journey too. My chosen path. Will you send me away?" 

"Do you fear that?" Jim wasn't sure where that came from, but he knew that question had to be asked. 

"Every moment of every day. From the moment I awake to the depths of my nightmares." 

"I'm sorry." 

"Will you send me away?" 

"Never. You are my Guide. Where you go, I follow." 

Blair dropped his hands from Jim's cheeks and stood up. A look of horror ran across the detective's face as he felt his Guide step back. 

"Jim, look at me." Again, the Guide voice, the quiet, authoritative voice that commanded Jim's life. He looked up and saw an outstretched hand. "Take it." 

He reached for the hand and stood as directed, then felt himself being pulled a little closer. Within the blink of an eye, both men had their arms wrapped around each other and they held on tightly. 

"Don't go." 

"I'm never leaving." 

"I promise I won't send you away." 

"Come with me." 

"Always." 

Blair shuddered when he felt Jim's lips brushing over his hair and knew that this was the moment that he had been waiting for since he had first set eyes on the scared detective in the doctor's office. 

"Upstairs? I mean, will you follow me there?" Jim whispered, so low that Blair could barely hear it. 

"Always?" He had to ask. 

"Always." 

Not releasing his grip on Jim, Blair stepped back a little, then moved one hand to take one of Jim's. Side-by-side, they walked to the stairs. 

* * *

End Men of Letters by Dangermouse: colonelk@tiscali.co.uk

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


End file.
